Closet Case Studies
by Craneeum
Summary: During the seasonal break, Noah decides to confide in his large litter of relatives a secret that being on TV has made increasingly hard to hide. Kind of a sequel/midquel to A Concert for Twenty Fingers, although it does not contain a whole lot of spoilers for that story.
1. Home

Total Drama Island ended in August. They gave us the tiniest shred of a parole in order to go home and recoup. I really mean it when I say a tiny shred. They didn't even give us a chance to get back to school. No opportunity to even sample our ordinary lives. By September, we were back on the road, back on TV. And the worst part was that I didn't even _need _to be there. My presence was a publicity stunt.

Sure, I took my books with me. I kept up-to-date online of all my assignments, and without even spending a moment in class, I still managed to do better in IB-level classes than many of my peers. I'm _mostly _irked by the fact that I had assured my spot in the student council, claimed a spot in the safe grad committee, and possibly attained line-head for the prom, but my absence theoretically forced me to relinquish all these privileges.

Instead of being a political player and an intellectual accomplishment, I'm a ghost-student who can't get his service hours in. All this, _and_ I don't even have the chance to win any money. I'm there as a bystander, fully useless.

The slightest benefit can be merited from being a non-competitor, and that is the fact that I did get _some _opportunities to go home – an opportunity I only once took advantage of. It would require me to make the arduous trek a province over, a few hours in a plane or a few decades by Via Rail, just for two or three days at home, in which I made a symbolic, if anything, appearance in class, a quick hello to my parents, former friends, and whichever siblings felt the need to drop in that week, and like a menstrual period, I disappeared for another month.

I spent my seventeenth birthday in this ridiculous soundstage, and as it was early on in the competition, I spent it mostly alone. Cody stayed with me, at least, with a crude card made of folded paper with an angry-looking smiley face on it. I'm grateful for that, at least. I got a call from my parents and 5 out of 8 siblings, which is actually a better proportion than last year. The only other people I really had capacity to hang out with were the scragglers who, like me, were ineligible for competition, none of which I felt particularly attached to, and Geoff and Bridgette, who gave me a half-hearted congratulations before resuming their diet of frequent fornication. I do feel as though I was anointed with one birthday blessing: that Izzy was only eliminated that evening, sparing me her uncomfortable presence, and that Trent was not eliminated until the following episodes, keeping him far away from me on my unfortunately destined birthdate (don't even ask.)

The show ended in late October and we were allowed home. For the first time in a long time - or probably ever, due to my avoidance of over-dramatism - I felt the urge to collapse in front of the little Jesus figurine on a cross we keep hanging over the kitchen threshold. I almost wanted to plead with it, to say to it: 'Please, O Lord, I feel I've suffered enough for my former sins. Do not allow Chris McLean to produce a third season of that wretched show.' I decided to sweeten the pot: 'It's a breeding ground of pride, greed, and immorality. Actually, just smite reality TV out of existence. Please.'

I realized that everything I'd said I'd mumbled out loud, and looked around to make sure no one was watching me talk to a Jesus figurine, because I can't be sure whether that falls under 'devout' or 'nutjob' in this family.

I peered around corners to see if any of my family was home to greet me. I would be seriously peeved if they weren't around to see my grand return.

No one was in the kitchen.

No one was in the living room.

I dragged my suitcase upstairs towards my long-empty bedroom. I allowed it to collapse on the floor. I pulled off my navy and red sweatervest roughly, tossing it on the ground.

"I never want to wear you again for as long as I live!" I let out a snicker. Yelling at a shirt is definitely weirder than talking to a wooden Jesus.

I collapsed on my bed.

That's where I am right now.

My eyes are shut lightly, enjoying the comfort of my familiar bed without succumbing to sleep. I slept almost the entire time on the train – it was an overnight – and it was only about ten in the morning right now. I hear the door to my room creek lightly and I open my eyes.

"Noah, is that you?" My mother peers through the cracked door before opening it fully to reveal her form.

"Mom." I say simply. Mom smiles tenderly at my very presence.

My Mother is a real work of nature. Despite having so many children – nine to be exact, in the span of thirteen years – her figure is only barely distended, a slight paunch in her gut from organs that inflated and deflated cyclically like a great lung over the years. I figure her body became so used to being pregnant that her organs remembered how to re-configure as an oft-repeated exercise. She maintains a fairly sophisticated but not overly-restrained sense of style that camouflages her years and any struggles that accompanied them. She has her hair pulled back behind her head in a woven braid that reaches about the navel. At fifty-two, her hair retains its glossy coffee-brown, marred by only a few threads of grey beside the ears.

"Are you glad to be home?" She says, with joy spreading to the corners of her mouth.

"No Mom, I'm devastated." I say with a grin. She's habituated to my sarcasm after seventeen years. I twist my legs off the bed, leaving them dangling over the edge. She shuffles in and sits beside me. With a restrained squeal, she wraps her arms around me in a welcoming embrace. My mother is not the kind who is a doting hen: this kind of parenting is a luxury that one can no longer afford if the number of offspring exceeds three, but though she's given birth to many babies, she only has one _baby, _and occasionally, when my siblings aren't paying attention, I can tell she will occasionally give me the slightest air of favouritism. Maybe it's because I'm the smartest, and both of my parents are intelligent academics. Both have put their time in at McGill university: my mother in linguistics and religion, and my father in microbiology (although his weakness for eastern religions led them to cross paths, so many years ago.)

"What's dad up to?"

Hearing my call, he appears at the door. His hair is thinner and lighter in colour than my mother's, but his eyes, however lined by crow's feet they are, maintain a youthful glow that people who spend lots of time in science labs have an unexplainable tendency to keep throughout their years.

"Guys, do we need to have a welcome party in my room, I'm hardly decent." I say, indicating my bare chest. My parents make a show of feigned embarrassment as I climb towards my dresser to find a shirt. "So what are the sibs up to?" I dig deep to select anything I haven't put on in several months. I come across a shirt that I recall fondly from ninth grade, a real time capsule, at the bottom of my drawer.

"Um, well as you know, Avery started school." My Mom says, rooting through her mind for news. I push my head through the neck-hole of my shirt, and let out an affirmative 'mh-hm.' "And Mark _finally _got a job that doesn't involve operating a cash register."

I pull my shirt down over my stomach. "That only took him, ah, three years?" I go back to my bed and sit down. "What about Isaiah? I haven't heard from him really since _before _I left for the first season of Hell-camp."

My dad shrugs. "Honestly, neither have we. Not a whole lot, at least."

My mother continues. "Michael and Rebecca will be back for Christmas."

Much to my surprise, the thought of seeing my siblings again excites me a bit. I spent so much of my life being suffocated and overlooked by my extensive collection of brothers and sisters that I began to resent their very existence, but after living several months with a disturbed grab-bag of over twenty surrogate family members - and I use that term lightly seeing as I made out with some of these 'siblings'- I began to appreciate the harmony of my family situation, or at the very least, I appreciated that none of my brothers or sisters are wanted by the RCMP, morbidly obese, have an IQ under 80, or want to hurt me in any way. At least to my knowledge. "Will anyone be here tonight?"

My father nods. "Eh, probably just the three of us. It's been pretty lonely lately without you. The thought of an empty nest is scary when you really think of how big the nest is."

"You probably didn't think it was big when we were all under 14."

"Selling the second minivan was _actually _the greatest moment of my life." My father utters with a grunt. I give him a smile as mom and I rise from the bed. I give my father a pat on the shoulder. He's not very tall, though a bit taller than me. My mother is a positively shrimpy 5'1" – she must have looked like a snail when she was pregnant.

"So if it's just the three of us, anything special you'd like for supper?"

"It's like ten in the morning." I snip.

"But it's your home-coming day!"

I expel a small laugh. "Give me the most stereotypically Indian thing you can possibly concoct."

"Of course."

* * *

I came home on a Friday. On Monday, October 26th, I make my return to school, the first bona-fide and un-destroyable day of my senior year. The day begins with English. Mondays starting with English has become routine to my classmates, but it's novel to me. I enter the classroom with the same apprehension and disengaged excitement as any kid would on a first day of school.

The desk up front that was mine for the two previous years remains unoccupied. I feel a mild hint of warm joy, as if I wasn't forgotten here. I feel like such a sap, so I immediately shut down the sentimental train of thought. The teacher comes over to me and hands me a copy of 'Waiting for Godot', uttering a quick but sincere 'Welcome Back!' as I crack open the book.

Fortunately, they hadn't started reading the book yet – they were handed out on Thursday and the class decided unanimously to wait until the following week to begin out oral read-along.

When I was in tenth grade I never liked to read out loud, but as of late, I've gotten used to all the attention, so unsurprisingly, my hand shoots up as volunteers are cast. I decide to read for Vladimir. He reminds me of myself, curmudgeonly, pragmatic and occasionally dark, with his companion Estragon always vying for his attention. Estragon's constant injury and slightly less grounded outlook remind me of a certain someone, as well.

Following English, I have Chemistry, then Economics. I feel a little lost at times, but I manage to navigate through the work without excessive difficulty. Trying to re-incorporate myself into the class dynamic is a little harder – it seems someone else always has the sarcastic quip to jam into the discussion before I even get the chance. I'll get my mojo back, I'm sure, but it's a little disjointing to be a stranger in a familiar land.

Lunch time is the time I most waited for, because it's at this time I'm at free range to reconcile with my long-abandoned friends. I stand at the microwave heating up the last leftovers from the massive pot of chickpea biryani my parents had made me as a welcome-home. I tap on the metal roof of the microwave, empty-headed.

"Noah!" My blank reverie is interrupted by a voice resurrected from the past. "Hey, I haven't seen you in _forever!_" She says. "Well, I saw you in first-period English, but we didn't talk. How's it been?"

Jenna smiles at me earnestly. "Hellish. You changed your hair."

"I got tired of the light streaks, dyed the whole thing dark."

"Looks alright." I say offhandedly, as the microwave beeps. "Who are you going to eat with?" I absently touch the white-hot Tupperware and jerk my hand back at the burning sensation. I pull a paper towel from my bag and wrap it around my hand before attempting again to remove my food from the microwave.

"Um, Molly, Andrew, Eddie. Like the whole group from the right side of English class." She says with a giggle.

"I'll join you in a minute, that is, if I don't need skin grafts by the time I get this shit out of the microwave." I pull the container out roughly and drop it on the top of the microwave. "I haven't seen those guys in ages except those two days I came back to school at the end of September."

"I forgot that even happened."

"Waste of my Goddamn time, is what it was."

Jenna leads me over to a table packed with familiar faces. I wave meekly before taking a seat at the end of the table. Molly gives Andrew a quick tap on the side to shut him up as I sit down. Their eyes all turn to me, and with Andrew silenced, not a peep escapes the gang. I scan them slowly with a perplexed look.

"Hey…" I say awkwardly. "Remember me…? Noah Khosla, we may have met… We kinda take a lot of classes together."

Andrew snorts. "Noah! Man, we missed you in class. It gets so dry in English without anyone to do back-and-forth with Mr. White."

"Or maybe not dry enough." Eddie adds.

"So we've been, like, on the edge of our seats. How was it? Why were you gone so long? Who won!?" Molly barrels excitedly over her friends' attempts at questions. I take a deep breath and recite a speech I've been mentally practicing since forever:

"Due to contractual promises with Teleteen incorporated, a subordinate company of Corus Entertainment group, I am forbidden to release any confidential information pertaining to the results of any contests in which I was present, including but not limited to Total Drama Island, Total Drama Action, and any current or future spin-offs and tie-ins, without consent of Chris McLean or other named authority of Teleteen, and/or before the results become publicly known through official televised releases."

I'm met with blank stares around the table.

"I signed a non-disclosure, we all did." I say shortly.

"God, I missed you, man." Eddie finally adds with a laugh.

"So as I was saying!" Molly says with a squeak "How was it? Have any _secrets? _"

"Actually, I have everything that happened documented on film, it's almost like my experience was _a tv show _or something." I say, rolling my eyes.

"The cameras can't show _everything! _" the skinny girl replies.

"I've been back for like four hours and you're already looking for secrets. Andrew, man, how do you handle it?" I raise a finger, hesitantly. "You two are still dating, right? Or else I just made things weird."

They nod affirmatively, glancing at each other.

"How about _you?_" Eddie prods. "Did you meet a special someone?" He waggles his brow a bit, and I realize that although he is my friend, I kind of hate this kid. He's that one kid that always follows the group around that we've accepted as a friend despite being terminally uncool. He's the kind of kid who wears shirts over his shirts, a trend most of us abandoned in the awkward days of sixth grade. He is also a complete foil to me, because his ability to detect sarcasm is severely impaired and he has the obnoxious tendency to explain jokes, never recognizing the error of his ways. He's the kind of kid you grow to love from familiarity, if not from his objective qualities.

I shift attention away from his posed question. "Secrets! Um, secrets. About who? About anyone? Uh, Heather has a soft side, but it's a complete broken bird type. I talked to her many times when we were alone. Don't get me wrong, she is a huge bitch, but there's almost a justifiable reason for it. Cody didn't actually get torn apart by a bear – he has a scar on his chest and it looks pretty badass, but he obviously came out alive. Also, watch out for Trent. Trent is actually fucked." I shift a bit. "You'll see."

"Cody's the guy from the awake-a-thon episode." Eddie snarks.

"And I can't thank you enough for reminding me, Edward." I snarl.

"Ooh!" Molly exclaims as she leans forward. "So the internet is right! You _are _secret lovers!"

I can't thoroughly describe the appalled look I give them – maybe because I'm unable to see it for myself. "The _internet?_ Did someone let Izzy make a Twitter?"

Andrew shrugs. "People talk."

I rub my temples. "Let me get this straight - and I need a minute to fully absorb the irony- at this moment, _13-year-old-girls making fanart _know more about me being gay than my own parents do. If I'm wrong, please correct me."

"Well, it's not just _you_." Jenna soothes.

"It's mostly you." Andrew chides.

I stare at them unwavering. I lift my box of iced tea and take a swig without letting my eyes leave my friends.

"So is there anything new around here?" I ultimately say. The group looks to each other, searching for adequate answers. I raise my eyebrows.

"Um, there was, ah…" Jenna searches for some news.

"A fire alarm?" Andrew adds. "Okay, I've got nothing. We've had a lot of work – senior year and all – and we've let drama and other such nonsense take a back seat."

"I envy you. If I hear the word 'drama' again I might snap." I say

"But you get to hang out with colourful characters and jump off cliffs and stuff!" Eddie exclaims.

"Yep, because 'jumping off cliffs' is on _everyone's _bucket list. I know for me it was right up there with staying up for two days straight." I immediately regret adding the second part.

"So I take it, based on your response to the internet fandom, that that Cody kid was your biggest mistake of the season?"

"Hoo boy." I say, after sucking the last of my iced tea out of the box. "He's a lot more than just a mistake."

"Cute." Andrew says with a smug smile.

"Who has a free last period? Like all of us who are in French, right? Cause I kind of think I'd like to see this 'internet' stuff. I mean, I'm going to deeply regret it instantaneously, but I'd still like to take a look, if only out of a cruel sense of masochism."

* * *

I stand behind Eddie in the school library as he scrolls through several pages of a Total Drama fanworks blog, and I can say for certainty, I'm aghast.

"Okay, the me being gay this I can chalk up to an intrepid, or at least intrusive mind. But why on earth are they pairing me with _Duncan?_ Why is this a thing? Duncan is gross. He has a unibrow. I'm _Indian _and I can keep that shit in check, so he should too."

Eddie scrolls further and Jenna alternates between giggling and grimacing at the images that appear on screen.

"Okay, now that one isn't even well-drawn. I'm nowhere near that buff, nor do I want to be."

We scroll a little further and come across a brightly coloured image of Cody and me as 'chibi' characters – nothing too twisted, just fluffy. My mouth defies my mind and my lips contort into a smile. "Okay." I sigh. "I'll admit that's kind cute. The kiss was an accident though, why can't fans accept that?"

Eddie smiles at me coyly. "You _liked _it though."

I speak with hushed rage. "No I _didn't! _If you woke up surrounded by a camera crew in the process of inadvertently fondling someone in your sleep, you would _not _like it. Even if it was the hottest person on the planet! Shit's embarrassing!"

Jenna and Eddie glance at each other knowingly, then back to me.

"I'm not saying he's not cute, I'm saying I am not proud of molesting him, and ugh, it's turned into this sick fodder for depraved fans, like what if they start sending me _mail?_" I let my voice slow to a calmer tone. "Also, excuse me for not wanted to get outed on a reality TV show for the world to see."

"We've known for like two years. So has literally everyone in the school, except the East-wing kids who are too busy smoking pot between classes to worry about what some IB nerd does in his private life."

"I'm not talking about you guys though."

"Dude, I met your Mom." Eddie says while turning around in his seat. "She's super chill. They'd be totally cool with it."

"Well most little gay kids need to tell their Mom and Dad, maybe a sibling or two, I gotta go through this absurdity eleven times over. That's if I _don't _tell extended family." I drag my fingers through my hair. My glance falls upon the chibi drawing of me and Cody holding hands, red-faced and sickeningly saccharine, but undeniably adorable. "You think I should do it?" I say as I divert my attention back to my friends.

"Someday, I guess."

* * *

I kick off my shoes as I enter my front door.

"Anyone home?" I call out.

I hear a vague sound of affirmation come from down the hallway – I identify it as my father's voice. I pad down the hallway and peer in at my dad, who's devouring National Geographic yet again.

"Hey Dad?"

"Hm?" He says, arching his eyebrows but only briefly glancing at me before returning his gaze to the glossy pages.

"Um, where's Gabe been?"

"He's doing a shoot for an ad for something or other on Thursday or…something…I think that Mom would like this article, it's about the importance of religion in the establishment of permanent societies in ancient Turkey."

"Dad, focus. Where is Gabriel going to be?"

"I dunno Noah, you'll have to call him."

I feel frustration for a fleeting moment at my father's divided attention, but my frustration fades into comfortable sympathy – the habit of sinking into a reading and cutting off the outside world is a habit we share.

I shut the door behind me as I enter the room, tossing my bookbag on the floor. Other than an Economics quiz on Thursday, I'm not overloaded with work this week.

I slip my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts until I reach G, under which there are only two contacts: Gabriel Khosla and Geoffrey van der Leer. Since I'm clearly not looking for a TDI reunion party anytime soon, I select Gabriel's number and hover my fingers over the keypad, contemplating my plan of action.

"Hey Gabe, your fav bro is back in town at last. Dad says you have a shoot or something on Thursday, mind if I catch up with you afterwards? Tell me where 2 meet."

I add: "I have some news." But I hold down backspace until the line disappears.

I add: "There's something I'd like to talk about." But I erase that line, too.

I look at the message once more before hitting send. 'Someday' is coming sooner than I thought.

* * *

**So this story is basically my garbage bin of ideas, so I can write more Noah stuff whenever I get stuck in my main story (which is now, because nothing happens in TDA!) I don't think this will be finished until AC4/20F is done, but I'll nibble at it whenever I feel like it, and since I don't have a canon to follow and the chapters are shorter, it's more of a recreational thing to write. This story doesn't contain a whole lot of TDI characters, it centres mostly on Noah's family, but I'm sure there are a few people who've wanted to know what they were like :) I feel like I might be losing my grip on Noah's narrative voice, I better reel it in. **

**In addition, I avoided anything too spoilerific in this fic so if you read this without reading A Concert you can still read that without being spoiled :)**


	2. Gabriel

I have a cardboard tray sitting on my lap. Two Tim Horton's cups sit in the holes, steam pouring out from the pinholes on the covers. I got myself a double-double with a flavour shot. I got Gabriel tea because I imagine he doesn't want to drink his calories. I sit perched on a bench across from a photography studio, and I have little desire to go in.

I slide the lock button on my phone and re-read the most recent message: 'I'm running a bit late. You can come in if u want.'

October is coming to a close and I shiver as my back presses against the chilled metal bench. The sky is clear but the wind is present, billowing the steam of my Tim Horton's into my face.

Today is Thursday, and more than just Thursday, today is 'someday'. When I asked Jenna and Eddie when I should come out, they said 'someday', and I decided today is 'someday.'

So as such I'm sitting here, on a bench, with the temperature steadily decreasing both in the air and within the cardboard cups on my lap, unwilling to make the simple move of waltzing into that building before me, finding my youngest brother, and telling him: 'I'm gay.'

I tap on the cover of my cup. I'm not nervous, per se, but a bit apprehensive. However, I need to put all feelings of fear beside me. This mission is like a game of sorts, and Gabriel is round one. Gabriel is like playing on easy mode.

There's a very strategic reason I decided to pick Gabriel as my first confidante among my siblings, and it is unrelated to his close proximity in age. As I was born with the gift of intellect (if I do say so myself), Gabriel was given the gift of beauty. Gabriel is sharp-boned, taller than most of us, lithe, and creamy-skinned. Gabriel was given a name of an angel, and the appearance to match. To be fair, Michael also shares his name with a biblical arch-angel, but his gifts and talents remain decidedly less practical or readily visible than beauty or intellect.

Gabriel models. He doesn't strut down the catwalk or anything equally gay, but his handsome face has gotten enough attention to appear in ads, in the paper, on billboards, and throughout catalogues in the area. It baffles my family how he was born so beautiful, because other than my mother's dignity, my father's faded youth, and our family-wide 'exotic Khosla nose', we're mostly plain-looking. Gabriel just got lucky with his DNA.

To cut a long story short, the reason Gabriel's modeling career makes him a good person to come out to is that he's the most likely out of my eight siblings to have constant contact with gay people. I won't pretend for a moment that his hairstylist isn't gay, or that some of his photographers have been. In fact, there might have even been a few lesbians tossed into the mix, in the form of clothing stylists with short and unusual hairstyles. Any homophobia he may have had in him must by now be erased by his constant casual interaction with homosexual people – and if Gabriel can survive in this sea of stereotypes, he can surely relate to me.

My coffee and tea are cooling down and I take this as an indication that I really need to go inside now. Gabriel will be almost done, and with any luck, his power queer-team won't even notice me sliding in.

I silently glide down the dark hallway, passing a few empty rooms before finding a spacious room with umbrella-lights set up in the corners. Standing against a plain white backdrop, dressed in simple business attire, is my brother.

Watching Gabriel, I'm reminded of Justin, and it suddenly becomes clear to me why I hated Justin so much. Well, there were a few reasons – he was vain, unintelligent, ineffective, unkind, but mostly, people fawned over his appearance when I frankly found him alien-looking, and not in a pleasant way. Gabriel is like the light side of Justin, the pure side. Justin is corrupt and egocentric, Gabe is friendly and warm, despite his profession.

I lean against the doorway. He keeps his gaze trained towards the camera, eyes intense but expression relaxed enough to create an inviting, commercial image. After a few minutes, I hear the photographer say 'that's a wrap' or something equally cliché, as Gabriel loosens his tight posture as he simultaneously loosens his tight necktie. Finally regaining his casual composure, he turns to me, doing a double take.

"Oh hey!"

I shrug and smile as I step towards him. He's suddenly masked behind a changing screen, removing his suit and returning to his street-clothes. "How are you?" he says from behind the screen.

"I've been worse." I say. "I brought you something to drink, please don't fire me if I got it wrong."

He twists out from behind the screen door and grabs the cup from my tray. "Awesome, thanks."

"Chai with one pack of sugar and no milk, is that alright?"

"Perfect."

"Not like I would have done anything had you said no…"

He smiles quickly before popping open the cover's tab and taking a sip. He nods and bids farewell to the photographer, and pulls on a sweater. "So where did you want to go?" he says, as he zips it up.

"Here is fine for now."

"You want to hang out inside a studio's empty lobby?"

I scoff. "Well we can go someplace fancier, I forgot you've found a love of designer suits."

"Dude, that was an ad for Tip Top Tailors. _Hardly _designer."

He smiles radiantly, his teeth a straight line of marble. Somewhere in the environs of his dark eyes and thick, groomed eyebrows, a small resemblance to myself can be seen, but his eyes are livelier. His hair is lighter than mine and frames around his face gentle, natural waves, contrasting my severe and geeky haircut. His entire appearance has been engineered for public display, yet he gives off an air of not being overly-controlled.

We sit down on the bench that I'd been sitting on earlier. It's a bit past five and the sky is still fully light.

"So I met another male model at 'camp'." I say, utilizing air quotes. "He's a major douchebag."

"I watched some of the show, I never heard him talk even once. How do you know he's a douche."

"I dunno, I just hate him. He represents most of the things I hate: undeserved egotism, ignorance, no sense of humour, uses one personal trait as a crutch for his popularity…"

"You do a lot of those things." My brother chuckles.

"Who said my egotism is un-deserves? Justin is like the anti-me. Like a mirror image."

"You're just jealous nobody wanted to see you take your shirt off." He snickers.

"Yeah, that's another thing, I don't even get his appeal, he wasn't even hot. Like, at all, everyone fawned over him and he was just…freaky-looking! It's like that episode of Spongebob when Squidward gets handsome."

"You still watch Spongebob?"

"After what I've been through in the past few months, I _really _feel for Squidward."

We exchange a restrained laugh. "Maybe it's a girl thing." Gabriel says.

"Maybe girls think he's gorgeous and boys don't because they see him as competition."

"Ah, I don't think so." I wonder if this would be a good time to bring up the issue I've been meaning to discuss. "There are a few guys…mostly Owen…who seem to go gaga over that Polynesian God as well. Of course, that's just 'cause they haven't met _you_." I add exaggeratedly.

I sit in silence for a moment, pondering my course of action. I take a little gulp. "And, ah, another reason he's an asshole is that he manipulates people's attraction to him to get them to do stuff for him. I mean, I'm a jerk to people on a _regular _basis but at least I'm very clear about it instead of trying to wrap them around my finger. I know I've got the brain to outwit most people, but I choose not to because I'm not a _total _dick."

The look on his face is a tiny bit unbelieving. He thinks I'm being a hypocrite, I think. Maybe I am, but I'm doing it to move the dialogue along. "Maybe I'm not the best example." I resume. "So…do you have anyone at your feet because of your good looks and status? 'Cause I'm dying to find more reasons I like him less than you."

"Well, knowing me since the moment you were born should kind of be the first reason." He smirks. "But of course, I have patsies bringing me tea and coffee every day."

I look down at the empty Tim's tray in my lap, and grimace. "I may as well get good at delivering lattés, then."

"I don't mean you." He laughs. "I mean random people who want to get into my good graces. It was worse last year when I was still in high school! You know how many guys tried to date me because they assumed that my knowledge of fashion essentials made me gay by default?" He chuckles again.

"Some people have all the luck!" I shrug. His gaze freezes on me, his laughter fades out. His mouth curls into a taut, aware smile. My hint was intentional, and my hint hit home. I fiddle with the rim of my now-empty cup and look at him silently for an instant. "Guys don't really look to the arrogant bookworm."

His little smile splits further, once again revealing his pearly whites. "So it wasn't the recluse, the art student, or the model, but it was the _bookworm?_"

I shift in my seat but my posture loosens at his welcome acceptance of my revelation. "That's why I wanted to speak to you today. Well, not only cause of that, I guess, cause you're my brother, or something, but because I figured your field of work is _crawling _with gays and you'd know better than any of the others how to deal with it?"

"You haven't told any of our other siblings? Or Mom and Dad?" I shake my head at both. "If somebody were taking bets on who the gay Khosla was, I don't think they'd have picked you."

"Have you ever seen me run?" I shout. "Whoever was taking these hypothetical bets must have done it in like 2001!"

"You do look pretty gay when you run." He says with a nod.

"And have you ever heard me _scream?_" I add.

"You _do _sound pretty gay when you scream."

"You should come back to the house for supper." I say. "I'm freezing my ass off out here, I just didn't want to make my little confession at home."

We peel off the metal bench and I toss my cups into a nearby bin. Gabriel stands on the sidewalk, hands in his pocket, awaiting me.

When I rejoin him, he asks: "What made you decide to tell everyone, all the sudden?"

"Honestly," I start "All my friends from school have known for a while. I just didn't want to handle the family awkwardness. It's statistically probably that someone's going to want to disown me, and I really hope it's not Mom or Dad because I still need their money seeing as I didn't win Total Drama."

"So why the change?"

"Ugh, did you _see _me on the show? I had gay written all over me. I never knew I was that obvious about it. I actually said 'what-everr'" I try to make my best catty intonation on the word.

"Well I saw you kiss a guy."

My fists clench in exasperation. "Why won't anyone just give that a rest? I was asleep! Owen sleepwalked and dove off a cliff and got naked, and no one bats an eye, and I spoon someone and everyone freaks right out."

"You're pretty defensive about it…" he says, a bit surprised.

"Well, Cody is a great guy and we became friends afterwards, I really think it would be for the best if my epic gay didn't drag him down with me."

"That's surprisingly noble."

"Plus I just don't want to talk about it. The kiss, I mean."

I parked the car in a nearby lot. It's a miracle I even got my license – I got my learner's permit about a month after my 16th birthday and didn't get my fulls until May, about a month before I left for the show. Had I failed for the first time, I'd probably have needed to go through the entire driver's license ordeal a second time around because my original permit expires on November 9th.

Also, in a moment of humbleness, I'll admit I'm a fairly shitty driver, which is why it took me seven months to get my license in the first place.

Gabriel sits in the passenger seat as I do up my seatbelt.

"This place is putrid." He says.

"Don't remind me. Isaiah had to repair Mark's car, and Mark took this one for a week. _One week. _Who eats this much in a car?"

I turn the key and drive off towards home. One down, ten to go, and I haven't been lynched yet.


	3. Sarah

The weekend that follows is Halloween, and I consider it the perfect opportunity to make a visit with my eldest sister Sarah.

Sarah was born in a dark, intermediate age known as 1980. The '8' gives us the hint that it's the eighties, but the future trends and pop culture we associate with the 80s, from hair metal to Madonna, were only incubating then. The year 1980 was the year that came late to a party the 70s were hosting, a year remembered solely by snap-shots of bowl-cut toting individuals of both sexes, always in sepia tone.

She was on the verge of her teen years by the time I came around. Although I've been told that for the earliest years of my life, Sarah enjoyed playing mini-Mom to me, by the time I was walking and talking (and reading, of course, although this is not generally a primary toddler-skill) she was in high school, and too busy and self-centred to wait to wait on a baby. My rough-and-tumble older brothers, now around ten, instead resorted to using me as a plaything once I lost my sister's protection. I would be utilized as everything from a dress-up doll to a doctor's patient to a ball for Hot Potato, although the last event of these Noah Olympics was put to a stern stop by my father once it was uncovered.

And of course, this is how I learned to mind my own business, to crawl in an unseen corner of my room and look at the pretty pictures in books, eventually matching the words with the images they represented. I would sometimes rifle through the forgotten manuals of Nintendo games, hoping against hope that one day, my number would come up in queue and I could get my stumpy child's paws on one of the two video games controllers.

One evening when I was four and Sarah was in eleventh grade, I crawled into her room, trying to avoid the carnage of an impromptu mini-sticks game. Michael decided that two-against-one wasn't fair, yet somehow a four year old and a seven year old versus a ten year old and a large, nimble, eleven year old was.

Like the budding genius I was, I decided to stand on her overturned hamper to reach some tantalizing books on a higher shelf. The thin plastic was not built for any sort of human weight, and it immediately caved in the instant I had my hand on an exciting-looking shiny purple book. I bit back tears, fearing that my family would rush in and start calling me a little bitch. The pain subsided quickly and I snuggled up beside the hamper and tried to read. This book contained different images and smaller print than I was used to, but I managed it.

It only took a few minutes before Sarah entered the room with a scream, witnessing the small monster curled up beside her clothes hanger. 'What are you doing!?' she said, breathless. I told her: 'having alone time.'

She got me to give her the book. I said I was reading it. She said there was no way I could read 'big kid books'.

So I read the text out loud.

I made some mistakes (when you don't know what an 'extension' is, an 'exciting' makes sense), but she seemed impressed. No, this moment did not become a life-change that reinstated Sarah's status as a second mother, but every so often, she's get me to come in and she'd read to me. It wasn't long before I was reading to _her_.

I park my car down the road from Sarah's house in an empty lot, to avoid blocking the path for any trick-or-treating kids. It's only four thirty, but the little ones come out before dark, anyway. I pace towards her house, kicking up the withered leaves. I ring her front doorbell and wait for an answer.

Sarah opens the door, a pumpkin-shaped bucket of candy in her hands. Raising my eyebrows, I pull one hand from my pocket and dive it into the bucket of candy, pulling out a snickers bar.

"Snickers? Don't mind if I do."

She pulls the bucket away from me before I can nab another treat.

"Noah!" she says, in her soft, mature voice. "I thought you were a trick-or-treater. Come on in."

I step out of my shoes at the doorway. The house opens up into a narrow hallway, with a staircase to one side, and the entrance to the living room on the other. "This place looks…different since the last time I've been here." I say, looking around.

"Yeah, you think? Nearly every fragile object in the living room has been moved into the hall closet or to my bedroom. Caleb is running around everywhere, and I can't just constantly monitor him like I did, when he was a baby, not when _he _isn't the baby anymore." She says, picking up my shoes along with a small child's pair, and shoving them to a corner.

"Where is he, anyway?" I ask.

"Probably wriggling into his Halloween costume. Backwards. He wants to be independent, that's a three-year-old for you."

I snicker.

"I'll probably help him out once he finally gives up…but in the meantime, you wanna see your niece? It's been awhile."

I nod affirmatively, rubbing my hands together. "Do you have any coffee? Or anything else is okay."

"We've got Toad Broth."

"What the hell is Toad Broth?"

"A Halloween drink."

"Toad Broth it is."

Toad Broth is a strange, thin green liquid in a tetra pak. It taste vaguely of melon and cucumber. The taste is not overwhelmingly bad, I realize, as I sip a box of the beverage up through a straw. After downing the first of two Toad Broths, Sarah leads me from the kitchen to the living room, where her daughter sits in a bouncy hair.

"Did you get a different baby?" I say, sucking on my straw. "Last time I checked, she didn't have hair."

"You haven't seen her since she was two months old!" my sister says with a chuckle. "How old are you now Ellie? You're five months old!"

I smile at the cooing child bouncing in her seat. She has a tiny plastic crown planted on her small, fuzzy head. The crown is a symbolic attempt at putting her in Halloween mode, as she's still too young to appreciate the trick-or-treat stuff.

Suddenly, the back of my legs is assaulted by a cardboard tube. "What the-"

I turn and look down to see what appears to be some kind of rounded cone with eyeholes, covered in blue sequins and shiny paper cut-outs. "What is this?" I say, crouching down. I adjust the carboard tube, pulling it up, and am met with a pair of brown eyes.

"I'm R2!" he exclaims.

"R2? Really?" I say with a laugh. "We've got a budding Fanboy here, don't we? Here's a tip, buddy, watch out for those prequels!" I turn to Sarah: "Michael told me about the costume. Why, of all things? Not that I'm disappointed."

"They have this…Lego Star Wars stuff out now."

"Oh, that's nothing new."

"Caleb is super into it. His father and I step on legos daily."

"I understand your pain." I snicker. I turn towards her son: "Hey little dude, you're gonna come trick or treating with uncle Noah, alrighty? So be on your best behavior or he might need to steal all your skittles."

Now free of his box, he looks up at me with a gaping, mischievous smile, wringing his hands together. Chocolate can be seen in the corners of his mouth, darkening his stubby milk teeth. "Started early. Great. With any luck you'll have your sugar crash at seven thirty so uncle Noah can have big kid fun on Halloween, too."

I turn to my sister, who smiles at me. She pushes a lock of dark brown shoulder-length hair behind her ear before crossing her arms. "How about," I begin, directing my attention to Caleb once more, "You can go get your bag ready, and I'll come with you, in fifteen minutes."

Sarah proceeds back into the living room and picks Ellie up from her bouncy seat. She lifts the contented baby near her shoulder, bouncing her lightly. "I'm grateful you're doing this, Noah. Most seventeen year olds wouldn't wanna take their little nephew out on Halloween…" She grunts, searching for Ellie's pacifier while trying to single-handedly keep the baby steady in her arms. "You probably have cooler things to do but…I can't leave Ellie and I can't take her out. So you're a real life-saver."

"Well, there is a _catch_." I finally say, as I stop rummaging through my reusable Sobey's bag and bring my eyes back to her.

"Let me guess, a cut of the candy?"

"Well, that's a given…" suddenly, we both get silent as I approach her. Even Ellie, with her five-month-old brain, can seem to detect seriousness of my words, subconsciously recognizing the sudden tension.

"I've decided to, eh…" I stare into Ellie's black marble eyes as she sucks on her pacifier. I pretend to speak to her, since she's a baby, and babies don't judge. Except for ugliness - a study shows babies prefer pretty faces over ugly ones – but that's beside the point. I speak to the baby because the baby doesn't make me nervous.

"I decided to come out to all of you. All my siblings. You're the second." I say, all with one breath.

"Come out…?" she questions.

"As gay."

The silence becomes more solid. She makes a thoughtful glance towards the corner of the room, taking in the information.

The silence is broken by the sound of Caleb's rapid footsteps pattering into the room. He slams into a small table, knocking over a clock.

"Well, you definitely made the right choice in getting rid of the fragile decorations." I say with a giggle.

"Caleb!" Sarah barks. "Into the other room."

"We going soon, Noah? I wanna go! I wanna get outside." I pat him briefly on the head, more of a poke, really, and send him on his way. The brief distraction can't distance me from the issue at hand. My eyes are back on Sarah. She puts Ellie back in her bouncy chair, now contented with her soother.

"You like boys." She says slowly.

"Yeah, that's…kinda what being gay means. Unless you're a girl, I guess. Then that's…sort of the opposite of being gay."

She glances anxiously at her son, rushing excitedly in circles in the kitchen.

"Adult boys? Boys…your own age?"

I lace my fingers into my hair, with mild exasperation. "Are you really going to play that card, Sarah?"

"I'm a mother. My mind goes there. I'm…sorry."

"Sarah, let me be frank: Little kids are _gross_. They're always covered in stains, they can't shut up, and having a runny nose is basically perpetual for them. Adult men? Hot. Teenage boys? I'm seventeen so I'm still legally capable of saying 'hot'. Little kids, no."

"Caleb likes you, you know. You're pretty good with Lego. And he likes when you read stories, too. Is that going to…change?"

"I was gay whether or not you knew it."

"It won't change _him, _will it?"

I shrug. "Honestly, I don't know how people become gay. Is it in your genes, or is it something you develop? I dunno. It's probably a little of both. But it's not something you just mimic."

She fusses over Ellie, patting down her hair, trying to act preoccupied with something other than my confession.

"And honestly, unless I bring them home a new uncle someday…I don't think Ellie and Caleb ever need to know. Unless they're like fourteen and old enough to comprehend." She looks pensive again, hand still upon Ellie's head.

"My scathing sarcasm on the other hand, just may wear off."

And of course, the little antichrist Caleb comes rushing into the room again, nabbing me by the backs of my legs.

"We go NOW, Noah. Or else I get _your _candy too." I turn to look down at him.

"Jeez, don't throw a fit. Lemme get my costume, then."

* * *

I step out of the washroom in full-black regalia, complete with cape. After a cursory glance from side to side, I present my entire form in the hallway. Inside his box of a costume once more, Caleb rushes around me in circles.

"So cool! Cool!" he screams.

"Sarah, dude, I think you should check and see if your bowl is still full because this kid is going nuts here." I say

He comes to a stop and gives me the once-over, scanning the details of my costume.

"What is it." He says flatly, suddenly forgetting the excitement and mavel of instants before.

"I'm Darth Vader! I thought R2D2 was a _smart _robot."

"He is! He speaks beep language! But 'Dark Vader' wears a mask." He says with a pout.

"Why would I want to cover up a handsome face like this?" I say with a chuckle.

Caleb begins to laugh heartily at the comment – either it's his first ever encounter with sarcasm, which is unlikely, or he truly believes my face is ugly.

"Maybe I'm the one who needs the box over my head." I mutter.

Sarah, watching the exchange, speaks up: "Noah, I thought you were a Han Solo kind of guy." She gives a knowing smirk.

"I am. But Han Solo isn't much without Leia and Luke…" I bend over to pick up my bag, stuffing my scarf and jeans inside. "Besides, I only know one person who I'd want to have as the Luke to my Han." I rise to my feet again, and linger my gaze on her for a moment, quiet. She stays quiet, too.

"Don't let him run in front of cars." She finally says.

"Don't worry, if he doesn't behave himself _I'll _be the one jumping into traffic."

As we slide out the door, a trio of third-graders in superhero costumes rushes up the steps to her front door. Before tending to them, Sarah addresses me one last time:

"It's going to take a while." She whispers, without disclosing specifics. "But I'll…be okay with it. I think."

I reach the bottom of the steps and race after Caleb. On one hand, it's sad that gays can't make babies, at least not in any natural way, but on the bright side, I'm not sure if my lazy demeanor could ever deal with kids.

And on the _brighter _bright side, the excitement of Halloween will have Caleb out cold by nightfall, and then the grade twelve Halloween party calls my name. I'd forgotten that socializing can be fun when no one has to worry about getting eliminated.

* * *

**Wrote another chapter of this to get my jimmies loosened after somehow managing to do an entire chapter of A Concert in one day this Tuesday. I will upload it soon, but I'm kinda sad at the number of new reviews/views it got since it was a pretty WHAM chapter. Oh well, all I can do is keep updating, if it's there, someone will read it :D :D **


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